Machine Politick

I have a couple copies in my purse to hand out, so I thought I’d post the text here for purposes of reference pamphleting, etc.

Thanks for the material go to USHistory.org

Why?
“Why” is a question, that when asked, is almost an immediate annoyance to the
person it is posed to. Children annoy their parents with this question, as they
seek to gather knowledge about the world about them. It is frustrating to
parents. But, it is a question that when asked of elected officials and those
seeking to destroy America, it becomes a weapon for those seeking to save the
republic. Do not bother to ask these clowns “where” they get the authority to do
the things they do, for you will get one of two answers, in various forms; you will
be told ’the Constitution allows for it’ or you will hear, ’from the people we
represent’. Stand up and ask these clowns “why” and don’t let them off of the
hook. Here are just a few samples for town halls, phone calls, emails, faxes and
letters:
Why do you think we should have government healthcare?
Why do you think that?
Why do you believe that taxes will grow the economy?
Why do you believe that?
Why are you allowing the government to grow so big?
Why do you think the government should be so big?
Why do you believe that a minority of private sector employees can support a
majority of public employees?
Why do you believe socialism will succeed here, when it has failed everywhere
else, no matter how many people the government kills to try and make it work?
Why do you support funding eugenics and racism?
No, seriously, why do you support killing minorities through eugenics?
Why are you funding terrorism and the killing of Americans by funding Hamas
and Pakistan?
Why are you running away?
And, one last question for them:
Why haven’t you filed articles of impeachment against Obama?
Why are you ignoring your oath to support and defend the Constitution and not
filing articles of impeachment against the president?
Why not give it a try yourself? Come up with some on your own. It is fun to
watch the elected officials squirm in the light of the question, particularly when
asked in public settings. But, you must be prepared to ask follow up questions
when they attempt to spin their way out of answering. I have several follow up
questions that I prefer:
Why didn’t you answer my question?
Why is it that your actions do not match your words?
Why do you want to change America?
Why are you dodging the issues?
Be relentless. Do not back down. And, above all, “act as if”. Act as if you are the
inquisitor. Act as if you are owed an answer. Act as if you have a right to know,
for you do. And, act as if they work for you, because they do.
In keeping with the spirit of “why” I have some questions for those of you who
view yourself as patriots, as Americans, as someone fighting for freedom:
Why is it that freedom fighters in Iran are still in the streets being beat and shot,
but you won’t come outside and protest?
Why is it that our founders went to war, shot people, over a tax on a beverage,
and you won’t protest in the streets?
Why is it that you believe if you go out three to five days a year at Tea Party
events, the government will listen?
Why are you not out in the streets during rush hour, blocking traffic, failing to go
to work, on a national strike? Why are you afraid of the government? The
government should be afraid of you.
When your children, grand children and great grand children are slaves to the
nation state, and Generalissimo Obama is hailed in the history books as the great
savior of the global government, what will you tell your family when they ask you,
“Why didn’t you do more to keep us free?”
Why?
Bill Turner
Assistant National Director Network Development
www.anystreet.org

This letter is also posted on ConservativePunks

These paintings are by Michael LeKites, who was kind enough to post them on our Facebook page. They were inspired by last year’s Taxpayer March on DC. I eel a personal connection to the work because I also attended the event. From the perspective of an artist, they are very well executed. The color and composition are amazing. From the point of view of a propagandist – they rock and I hope to see more work of this kind in the public forum. Please keep an eye out for future postings of Mr. LeKites’ work, as I plan to keep track of his progress.

These images have also been posted on Liberatchik

One of the books I am currently reading is the Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I am not a religious person by nature. Therefore, the book has afforded me some interesting insight into religion and spirituality. I do not, myself, posses faith or the belief in a higher being although (unlike many atheists) I do respect the right of others to do so. I find the concept of religion interesting; particularly the wealth of cultural and iconographic influence it has bestowed upon society.

For this reason, I believe I have approached the reading of this book with an open perspective. I have no agenda or preconceived notion of what it is about. I am reading it simply for the sake of gaining perspective. Ironically, the letters from Screwtape to his nephew Wormwood could just as easily be from a congressman to their aid. Perhaps it is because so many of them have spent their entire career dismantling America in much the same way that Screwtape dismantles souls.

I am not yet finished, but here are some lines I found particularly fitting to the current establishment in Washington.

“An important spiritual law is here involved. I have explained that you can weaken his prayers by diverting his attention from the Enemy Himself to his own states of mind about the Enemy. On the other hand fear becomes easier to master when the patient’s mind is diverted from the thing feared to the fear itself, considered as a present and undesirable state of his own mind; and when he regards the fear as his appointed cross he will inevitably think of it as a state of mind. One can therefore formulate the general rule; in all activities of mind which favor our cause, encourage the patient to be unself-conscious and to concentrate on the object, but in all activities favourable to the Enemy bend his mind back on itself. Let an insult or a woman’s body so fix his attention outward that he does not reflect ‘I am now entering into the state called Anger – or the state called Lust’. Contrariwise, let the reflection ‘My feelings are now growing more devout, or more charitable’ so fix inward that he no longer looks beyond himself to see our Enemy or his own neighbors.”

Translation: Put yourself and your ‘needs’ above all others. It is the mantra and the goal of the movement for ’social justice’. People are kept in a constant state of fear about their future, their status as victims, who will or won’t provide for their ‘needs’ while being kept in a position of helplessness and dependency by the very people who claim to be helping them. It is no coincidence that those same people have simultaneously torn down the concepts of morality, the family and individual responsibility.

“Thus by inflaming the horror of the Same Old Thing we have recently made the Arts, for example, less dangerous to us than perhaps, they have ever been, ‘low-brow’ and ‘high-brow’ artists alike being now daily drawn into fresh, excesses of lasciviousness, unreason, cruelty and pride. Finally, the desire for novelty is indispensable if we are to produce Fashions or Vogues.”
One need only go into the nearest gallery for an illustration of this point. The art community, which touts itself as being avant guard, independent minded, and opposed to the system has become a mere tool to the Progressive agenda. It is now our job, as Conservatives, to stand up to the status quo in the art community and take back our culture. How can we expect the next generation to understand what we are fighting for if they have no concept of Liberty or individualism? Traditionally, it has been the art community that has gone against the grain to raise awareness and promote unpopular ideas. I say we take advantage of that tradition and the means by which it has been achieved successfully in the past.

Want to help? Submit a blog post on the subject for our consideration. Send us images of your work. Find that in yourself that inspires you to stand up to the system and put it in creative form – produce a video, paint a picture, write a poem – anything to get the point across. If you need help getting started, contact me directly at frances@machinepolitick.com or feel free to use the Conservative Action Tools on my web page for ideas. The future is what we make of it.

This article was written for Liberatchik

Watch it and pass it on please. If you don’t know why, you’ve stumbled onto the wrong website.

These photos are also posted at Liberatchik

The last couple of weeks, I have been back at Frankie’s Repair Shop working on his mural. It is a tribute to his father who served in the Korean War. In two weeks, Mr. Morales will be in town from Puerto Rico. It will be interesting to see how he reacts, and how accurately I have been able to portray him based on the grainy black and white photos I have from the war as reference.

Overall, I am very happy with the mural. Portraits are my least favorite subjects, but I think this one is coming out pretty well. I am extremely pleased with the eagle and the translucency of the flag. One of the most difficult parts of this project has been trying to achieve the layering that is prevalent in my fine art while using house paints.

I expect to finish up tomorrow. For now, here are the current photos:

This article is also posted at Liberatchik

I just posted an article over at Anystreet about how I spent the Fourth of July. I thought I’d take a minute here to post a poem we read our son to commemorate the holiday. Also, here is the most recent work in progress at the MachinePolitick studio.

Happy Independence Day to all!

Paul Revere’s Ride by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Listen my children and you shall hear

Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,

On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;

Hardly a man is now alive

Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, “If the British march

By land or sea from the town tonight,

Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch

Of the North Church tower as a signal light,-

One if by land, and two if by sea;

And I on the opposite shore will be,

Ready to ride and spread the alarm

To every Middlesex village and farm,

For the country folk to be up and to arm.”

Then he said “Good night!” and with muffled oar

Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,

Just as the moon rose over the bay,

Where swinging wide at her moorings lay

The Somerset, British man-of-war;

A phantom ship, with each mast and spar

Across the moon like a prison bar,

And a huge black hulk, that was magnified

by its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street

Wanders and watches, with eager ears,

Till in the silence around him he hears

The muster of men at the barrack door,

The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,

And the measured tread of the grenadiers,

Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,

By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,

To the belfry chamber overhead,

And startled the pigeons from their perch

On the somber rafters, that round him made

Masses and moving shapes of shade,-

By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,

To the highest window in the wall,

Where he paused to listen and look down

A moment on the roofs of the town

And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,

In their night encampment on the hill,

Wrapped in silence so deep and still

That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread,

the watchful night-wind as it went

Creeping along from tent to tent,

And seeming to whisper, “All is well!”

A moment only he feels the spell

Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread

Of the lonely belfry and the dead;

For suddenly all his thoughts were bent

On a shadowy something far away,

Where the river widens to meet the bay,-

A line of black that bends and floats

On the rising tide like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,

Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride

On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.

Now he patted his horse’s side,

Now he gazed at the landscape far and near,

Then impetuous, stamped the earth,

And turned and tightened his saddle girth:

But mostly he watched with eager search

The belfry tower of the Old North Church,

As it rose above the graves on the hill,

Lonely and spectral and somber and still.

And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height

A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!

He swings to the saddle, the bridle he turns,

But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight

A second lamp in the belfry burns.

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,

And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark

Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;

That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,

The fate of a nation was riding that night;

And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,

Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

He has left the village and mounted the steep,

And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,

Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;

And under the alders that skirt its edge,

Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,

Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock

When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.

He heard the crowing of the cock,

And the barking of the farmer’s dog,

And felt the damp of the river fog,

That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,

When he galloped into Lexington.

He saw the gilded weathercock

Swim in the moonlight as he passed,

And the meeting-house windows, black and bare,

Gaze at him with a spectral glare,

As if they already stood aghast

At the bloody mark they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock,

When he came to the bridge in Concord town.

He heard the bleating of the flock,

And the twitter of birds among the trees,

And felt the breath of the morning breeze

Blowing over the meadow brown.

And one was safe and asleep in his bed

Who at the bridge would be first to fall,

Who that day would be lying dead,

Pierced by a British musket ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read

How the British regulars fired and fled,-

How the farmers gave them ball for ball,

From behind each fence and farmyard wall,

Chasing the redcoats down the lane,

Then crossing the fields to emerge again

Under the trees at the turn of the road,

And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;

And so through the night went his cry of alarm

To every Middlesex village and farm,-

A cry of defiance, and not of fear,

A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,

And a word that shall echo for evermore!

For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,

Through all our history, to the last,

In the hour of darkness and peril and need,

The people will waken and listen to hear

The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,

And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

This article was written for Liberatchik